After having prepared Richard for his journey to Egypt and seeing him off, I went up to Opçina with Blanche, drove over to Duino to see the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and on to Gorizia (German Görz), where we went into a Convent, I wishing to make what we Catholics call a "spiritual retreat." It was November weather; our rooms were very cold, and naturally poorly furnished, as becomes convent cells. There was a church attached to the house, and Padre Bankich, a Dalmatian Jesuit, was our director. My niece would give a very amusing, though sad account of this expedition, but I do not think it has anything to do with the story. When we came out of retreat we made a delightful picnic-pilgrimage to the Monte Santo before alluded to. It is a most charming expedition, and the view repays the climb. Before leaving Gorizia I attended to our branch Society for Protection of Cruelty to Animals, and had two little rooms built for the lassoed dogs. We then returned to Opçina. There was a splendid comet at this time. On return to Opçina we gave a dinner-party to our friends at Trieste, and we (women) dressed like _mandriere_ (the peasants' costume on _fête_-days). [Sidenote: _Trieste Life_.] On the 6th of December we had an earthquake in the night and a tremulousness all day, and earthquakes all the month. We were walking on the Karso above; the sky was clear, and all of a sudden my niece said to me, "Oh, look up, there is a star walking into the moon!" "Glorious!" I answered. "We are looking at the Transit of Venus, which crowds of scientists have gone to the end of the world to see." We then went down to meet Richard, who returned at seven o'clock in the morning of the 10th, and all went happily up to Opçina. This day we had dreadful storms; the lightning fell in the town three times, and the telegraphs could not work. Oberdank, the bomb-thrower, was hanged on the 19th. He said if he was pardoned he would kill the Emperor. He was more like a Nihilist than a disciple of Orsini. On the 31st of December we went to the last happy St. Silvester we ever had, at Madame Gutmansthal's. We assembled at nine, and broke up at 3.30. Richard was a gold-digger rowdy; I was Hagar, a gypsy fortune-teller, and favourite of the Shah of Persia, exceedingly well acted by Monsieur Thomas, the chief superintendent of the railway; my niece Blanche was Miss Jex Blake; the Princess Wrede was a Neapolitan peasant, and Admiral Buchtá a Neapolitan fisherman. The two Neapolitans danced the tarantella most beautifully. We all had different characters. I told fortunes, and they sang, danced, and recited most perfectly. One lady (Madame Thomas) impersonated Sara Bernhardt, and took her off to the life. Our hostess was a marquise of the _ancienne régime_. We were thoroughly well amused. After this year, misfortunes began to come upon us _all_, and we never had another like it. 1883.